


Kalampokiphobia: Fear of Corn

by InterstellarToaster



Series: Stardew Valley [3]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Kalampokiphobia, POV Second Person, Phobia, Pierre's Fear of Corn, Second POV, Slice of Life, tortilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarToaster/pseuds/InterstellarToaster
Summary: "Anything else?" Pierre inquired in an unhurried, relaxed tone. You took that moment to release the corn from your arms, letting it spill out onto the counter. It rolled around, thumping on the wooden surface, the husks crinkling with their freshness and shining slightly with dew. Pierre took one look down and screamed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys I had to google the phobia for fear of corn and one of my stories was a top result. I'm famous in all the wrong ways.  
> This fic is partially based in truth. I had to sell him corn, and accidentally gifted it to him. I only had one to sell, so I left without the flour I needed.  
> Is it a football or a gridball?  
> Edit: Oh my glob, this story also got fanart! [ Check it out! ](https://fanabout.tumblr.com/post/164530172619/from-kalampokiphobia-fear-of-corn-by)

Pierre's fear of corn was a long and sordid tale, one that you yourself didn't fully understand the origins of. All you knew was what you had learned in your very first year of farming, and even that was not much. You referred to it as the Day of Corn and Sadness. The other villagers referred to it as The Incident. (1)

(1): not including Shane, who referred to it as, "That one time Pierre started crying and there was corn everywhere, it was pretty hilarious."

 

Summer had come and gone, leaving Autumn alone. Good news, for a farmer such as yourself. In the summer, you had grown cranberries as far as the eye could see. In the fall, cranberries turned into corn. You had fields of the stuff growing across your farm, with fences at the edges to ward off the yet untamed sections. You had chickens named Steve, an anti-Marnie silo, and corn that stretched across fields. Beautiful, amazing corn. Life, for you, was satisfactory.

As with any other day, you awoke early. You donned the straw hat of conquest- a story for another day- and set off to complete your chores. The chickens were fed, the cows milked, and the crops watered. The harvest was today, with the ears of corn like monuments to your success. You took your time as you collected each one, thanking the stalks that had gifted them to you. The particularly promising ones, you kept for yourself. The rest were placed into the shipping container, to be whisked away by the magic of Mayor Lewis sometime in the morning hours. The box was, as always, suspiciously infinite in space. If there was a bottom, it wasn't clear. The frankly absurd amount of corn you shucked in certainly didn't even put a dent in it.

By the time you were done with your chores, you set off for the town. You were low on funds, and needed to buy some flour, and as such you decided to sell some of the corn to Pierre and trade for the flour proper. Or at least, you would have, had Alex not thrown a football at your head. You stumbled, falling to the cobblestone of the town square with a disgruntled noise. Your fall had protected your corn, but not your face. 

"Woah, are you okay?" Alex asked as he rushed over. You considered throwing the football at his face, in compensation, but decided not to.

"Life is pain, and so is my face," You told him, carefully cradling the corn. Alex raised an eyebrow as he retrieved his ball. Was it a football? A gridball? It looked like a football. It certainly hurt like one too.

"What are you doing with all of that corn?" He jokingly inquired, flexing a little. You blinked.

"Pierre," You stated. Alex visibly blanched. You wondered why he didn't like Pierre.

"O-oh. Corn for Pierre, huh? You do that..." Alex said, looking at you in fear as he slowly began to retreat. You, on the other hand, did not move. You wondered why he had decided to give you a cryptic warning. Perhaps someone else could explain it to you? You had plenty of time, and so you decided to go to the Joja-Mart and hassle your friend Shane. The trip was quick and uninteresting, until you were inside the area itself.

"Shane," You asked him in a harsh whisper, covertly hiding in a shelf he was trying to restock. He didn't even bother recoiling. 

"What?" He asked, restocking the area around you. You wiggled, and a can dislodged itself and fell to the floor.

"I need to sell corn to Pierre," you informed him. He studied your words, as though they had a hidden meaning. Then, he slid a box of macaroni and cheese in front of your face, and frowned.

"I wouldn't," He replied. You frowned as you slid out the other side of the shelf, dropping onto the floor and pondering. Another cryptic message. You only had one other person you could ask, as you slithered your way out of Joja-Mart and towards your destination. 

"That's a bad idea, and a bad omen. Be wary if you try it," Linus informed you. You stood next to him, staring at the decrepit community center. His words rang true, but your plight was still truer: money required, thus goods to be sold, thus corn to be sold, thus to Pierre you would sell. You decided that you would simply have to prove your friends wrong, that their fears were both unfounded and overrated. Corn was the most beautiful, unassuming crop of all. No one could ever be afraid of it. (1)

 

(1): You would soon find yourself proven wrong.

 

"Pierre!" You announced, throwing open the shop door. Pierre looked up at you in vague disinterest, before looking away as he flicked through a farming catalogue. You grabbed a bag of flour from a nearby shelf, plopping it down on the counter and smiling. 

"One flour," You requested. Pierre set down the magazine and began to ring you up. 

"Anything else?" He inquired in an unhurried, relaxed tone. You took that moment to release the corn from your arms, letting it spill out onto the counter. It rolled around, thumping on the wooden surface, the husks crinkling with their freshness and shining slightly with dew. Pierre took one look down and screamed.

"This is horrible! Never bring this to me again!" He yelled, the force of his words sending the corn flying. You scrambled to grab them, shuffling them into your arms with fear in your eyes. He began to hyperventilate at the sight of them, grabbing the closest thing on hand to try and banish your presence. That thing happened to be the bag of flour, which he flung at your head. It landed with a bampf, releasing flour everywhere. You scrambled out of the store, managing to rush outside. The sun was blinding through the haze of flour and fear, and it was a miracle that you managed to make it to your farm in one piece. 

 

"Then he threw the flour at me, right at my face," You explained in a startling calm voice. Though, your posture was a different story, as you hunched over and trembled slightly. Such fear of corn, such revulsion. You couldn't understand it. And also, there had been flour in your hair for hours, an experience that was both haunting and frustrating. 

"Huh," Said Shane, taking another sip of beer. You both sat close together on the dock, feet dangling over the water with a six pack between you. Shane reached over and gave your back a reassuring pat after a moment's deliberation. Surprisingly, it made you feel better.

"Some people are weird like that," Was his only advice. You could only nod.


	2. Tortilla Tornado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends help friends overcome their fears. You are probably Pierre's friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I doing

You stared blankly at the stovetop. The skillet sizzled, but otherwise made no other noises. You wondered if this was the right thing to do. Then, you remembered you were fighting a war. There was no time to be unsure in war. Especially a war of this caliber.

"For the corn," You whispered, a battle cry of sorts. You dropped the mixture into the skillet as your mind slogged along.

Seasons ago, Pierre had made an enemy of you. He insulted your corn, and threw flour in your hair. You swore to have your revenge on the man, and you would get revenge the only way you knew how: killing him with kindness. A true friend helps another friend to overcome their fears. You were not Pierre's friend. You slid a freshly prepared tortilla out of the skillet and onto the counter, and the universe shuddered. 

There were other corn based dishes you could have made. Corn juice, pickled corn, popcorn, corn on the cob, corn soda from Joja. But, the tortilla was a deadly weapon. It was efficient, yet silent. Your grandparents had told you often of the Corn War, and how the rebels would often disguise their corn as tortillas in order to smuggle it across enemy lines. A well-aimed tortilla could incapacitate a man. And your tortilla recipe was one of the best. 

You slid the last of them out of the pan, the stack on the counter listing to one side. You carefully divided them up as you put them into your bags, only stopping when you were certain the task was complete. You crept out into the darkness of the night, bags laden with tortillas as you made your way to Pierre's Store.

 

Pierre rested in his bed, unaware of the waking world- and, more importantly, unaware of you as you clambered through the open window. You leaned back out, looking back long enough to give your accomplice a thumbs up. From your position, Pierre was visibly relaxed and at ease. His dreams seemed to be pleasant. No doubt corn free. A dark smile crossed your features as you slid your hand into your bag, pulling out a tortilla that gleamed in the moonlight. With a swish of your hand, the single tortilla fanned outwards to reveal five more. You turned your hand backwards, pulling your arm towards yourself, and the world seems to stop. You blinked.

"Heads up," You whispered, before rapidly flinging the deadly tortilla straight at Pierre. They all hit their mark, landing with several bampfs. You didn't stop to admire you handiwork, too busy climbing back out of the window.

"Come on, move it!" You whispered, grabbing your partner's hand. As you ran, the air was filled with a scream of primordial terror. Pierre's voice shattered the quiet of the night, as his nightmare turned into reality; Approximately 80% of his face was covered in corn based tortilla. He continued to scream. 

"That seems excessive," Your accomplice frowned, wrapping the length of rope back up. You blink, before replying while staring off into the distance.

"A farmer never forgets, Shane."

**Author's Note:**

> The Anti-Marnie Silo is a reference to a previous story. I recommend it, because I wrote it and it details the horrors of a war against Marnie.


End file.
